


Midnight

by Star1086



Category: Fringe
Genre: Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star1086/pseuds/Star1086
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crack!smut. Companion piece to season one's "Midnight". A smutty look at what else could have happened at the club before Valerie was sedated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to "Midnight" that's been newly rediscovered on my hard drive. Pure crack!smut, and not beta’d so all embarrassing mistakes are my own. I took some liberties with this piece, so it’s not exactly canon. Make the assumption that Valerie Boone’s bite was somehow an aphrodisiac to her victims before she snacked on them.

The music around them is loud, booming and intrusive. Peter can feel the bass reverberate inside his bones and prickle the hairs on his neck. He’s uneasy, on edge and fucking hot. 

There’s a certain heat emanating from the nightclub: the explosion of people moving, dancing, swaying and he thinks that if he were in another life, he might be here among them, not holding a thermal imaging radiometer looking for some freak science experiment gone horribly wrong. 

He can feel Olivia before he sees her, brushing a hand along the corduroy of his jacket as she leans in close enough to hear him over the techno music. 

“That thing working?” her shout barely above a whisper in his ear.

He quirks a lip in response, scanning the room with an eagle eye, playing a very dangerous game of “Where’s Syphilitic Waldo,” draining victims of spinal fluid through their throats. He tilts the gun so she can peer over his shoulder to inspect.

“Look for yourself.” 

The gun casts a spectrum of vibrant colors, the various heat patterns each patron is throwing like a homing device in a spectrum of gold and yellows. Satisfied, she gives little nod before vanishing in the crowd of dancers. Peter trails her departure over the gun, looking so out of place in her leather jacket and no nonsense attitude, but he also notices the eyes of men following her and he grips the gun just a bit tighter.

Olivia’s suffocating as she pushes her way through the impossibly hot dance floor, constantly on guard for any signs of Valerie Boone’s freaky eyes in the sea of blurry faces. She’s regretted her jacket as soon as they stepped foot in the place, the leather making the small nightclub even more stifling, her hair sticking to her neck unpleasantly while little embers of heat radiate off her cheeks. There’s the chatter of other agents over the earpiece, all waiting for her signal, but finding anyone in this place feels next to impossible.

Someone grabs her arm, and she’s instantly coiled, reaching for her gun under her jacket before she realizes it’s a man leaning in close to her. Even in the pulsating strobe light she can tell the man is good looking. Tall and thick and blonde with blinding white teeth that flash violet under the black-light. 

“How ‘bout a dance?” He asks; voice soggy with whiskey and tar from cigarettes. He touches her forearm, invading her space and her eyes dart to find Peter’s staring daggers back at them over the ridiculous orange top of the gun. She feels her face boil, knowing that he and everyone else in the sting can hear them through the microphone concealed in her ear.

There’s a brief moment when he also notices her gun, concealed nicely under the jacket and he looks about two seconds away from shitting himself.

“No thank you.” She manages as she pulls her hand away, feeling oddly embarrassed as she makes her way back through the crowd and away from the man, still open mouthed and gawking freely in her direction. 

There’s a husky chuckle over the earpiece and she knows its Charlie’s voice and the embarrassment deepens, hissing for him to shut up as she goes back to work. 

She makes it around the club twice without any sign of Valerie and finally gives up to make her way back to Peter to see if he’s had any luck. She knows she could just ask him over the microphone, but she doesn’t and she’s not entirely sure why. 

_Can’t hear in this place_ she thinks as she strides over. __

She’s there to watch him try to skirt some drunken co-ed hitting on him, hearing him tell her with a straight face that he’s “looking for someone with syphilis,” and she almost laughs at the incredulous look of the girl before she makes a beeline in the opposite direction. She almost feels sorry for her. 

There’s a soft brush along her back and she spins in surprise, expecting the John look-alike but seeing nothing but the entangled bodies of drunken patrons. She should be feeling on edge but she feels oddly content, relaxed. _Malleable_. Like a shiver snaking up her spine to pull the deep tissue of her back pleasantly.

“’’Livia, to your left, she just passed you!” She hears Peter’s voice through the ear bud, the vibration tickling her ear and she giggles. Giggles. 

_That’s not right_ , she thinks. 

She turns, but her head’s heavy and the hazy lines of the music pushes down on her from all sides. Her eyes feel oddly thick, sitting low on her face and she knows that something is definitely wrong, but she’s not so concerned with the why at the moment.

“Olivia!” Peter’s right next her, brow furrowed, angry looking, but she’s fascinated with the amazing detail the crisscrossing corduroy of his jacket is making along his chest.

“She was right here!” he shouts over the music, looking above her into the crowd. 

Olivia’s squinting, rolling her shoulders like she’s trying to buck something off and he knows something’s off. Valerie Boone practically collided with her and merely walked away, lost again in the crowd before Peter could tell which direction she disappeared. 

“Oh hey, Peter,” she drawls in a very un-Olivia way, “didn’t see you there.” He knows something is definitely off, taking a step back when she runs a hand down the front of his jacket, his skin jumping under her touch.

“Everything OK in there?” Charlie’s voice trills in his ear, and he palms the radiometer in one hand to pull his wrist with the microphone to his mouth.

“Yeah, we just lost her. Hang on.” He answers cryptically.

There’s a gentle brush against the back of his neck, fire dancing along the exposed skin and he jumps. He turns his head to find brilliant blue eyes staring back at him. He opens his mouth to call out, but can’t think of anything to say, so he lets his mouth hang open, gaping stupidly until the wave of euphoria seeps into his pores. A weird sense of Déjà vu washes over him, but fuck if he remembers from what.

He turns to Olivia for something, which is difficult because his head presently feels like it’s full of marbles, and she’s focused back at him, a grin splitting her face into a million illuminating kaleidoscopes. She pushes into him as the music dances up his spine and turns his insides into raspberry jam. When her hips brush into his, he loses the ability for thought altogether.

Olivia can’t help but want to feel him; he’s too miraculous to not touch. She presses into him and lets his body curl over her like smoke and it’s a very buttery sensation. The music touches every exposed piece of skin and she’s moving with it, pressing her hips along his and looking at Peter and his skin refracting light like little pebbled gumdrops and it’s all just too beautiful. His hands grip her hips hard, digging fingers and she’s suddenly on fire. There’s the clattering of the radiometer on the floor, but she forgets why they needed it in the first place.

The woman with the blue eyes circles them, touching Olivia’s neck, running a hand under Peter’s collar and each time it’s a new spike of raw, sweeping pleasure. Peter’s digging into Olivia’s hips so hard that he can feel the inside of her bones and they’re flavored like grape soda. Touching her was instinctual, feral and utterly vital as breathing. 

The same fire licks at his ear, pulling the bud out and it falls somewhere with the gun that he’s abandoned ever since he felt Olivia’s ass press very indiscreetly against the front of his now painfully evident hard-on a and all he can think of is buttered taffy. His head spins as the dark-haired woman wraps her fingers around Olivia’s neck. He feels Olivia shudder and it crashes through him like the shock of a speeding bus.

There are people all around them, but no one pays them any attention; all still dancing and concentrating on their own lives under the near pitch black of the dance floor. Nobody sees Peter’s hands slide to disappear under the front of Olivia’s shirt , and nobody pays any attention when Olivia wraps her arms behind Peter’s neck to pull his mouth down to touch with her own.

The woman runs her hand through Olivia’s hair and sending little sensory spikes through her scalp while tracing a finger around Peter’s earlobe and earning a grated hiss in response when the little pleasure bombs ignite. 

The flickering of the strobe makes Olivia’s vision even more disoriented, throwing everyone first in shadow, then bleached white light but all she can concentrate on is the woman’s hands as she slides them over Peter’s hands under her shirt. A kitchen knife of sensation rocks her when she sees the pink of tongue sliding along her neck and she’s oddly aware that it’s not Peter’s. She’s faced away from Peter but she feels his reaction against her back, leaning all her weight into him and gripping his neck for support as she feels two sets of hands inch their way down her breasts to her stomach and to dip below the waistband of her jeans. She’s beyond caring whose hands they are at this point if it means they continue leaving doing exactly what they were doing.

Peter’s combustible, feeling his clothes too hot and too many for the setting, but he’s unable to do anything being squashed between Olivia and the wall he’s suddenly met against. He’s so hard it hurts, feeling Olivia against the rough fabric of his jeans a dirty joke he can’t laugh at. When Valerie’s hands make contact with his over the fabric of Olivia’s bra, he almost comes right then and there it’s so overwhelming.

He dips his mouth down to take Olivia’s lips with his own and there’s a short burst of electricity humming between them. He feels Olivia open to him instantly, tasting his tongue and he’s sliding his hands under the confines of her bra to take her breasts in hand, pulling her tighter against him and trying to crack open the safe.

His kisses are lazy, but with a fever he’s unaccustomed to; feeling like if they stop something horrific will happen: he sun will crash into the earth; gravity might reverse or fucking dinosaurs might spring up out of the ground to kill them all. He touches her with rough hands, pinching her nipples to feel the hum of a growl in her throat. 

He knows something wrong, knows they shouldn’t be doing this, but as soon as the thought strays through there’s a new set of lips against his and with it a new jolt of gratification and all that work is slammed to the background. When the tongue invades his mouth, he grips at the dark curls to pull her face closer, desperate ride out the tumultuous waves. 

The only things that Olivia feels are hands, wet mouths and the new throbbing sensation that she can’t slate. She should be alarmed at the fact that they’re in middle of a darkened dance floor on assignment, or what Peter’s hands are doing to her, or even that watching Peter kiss this woman whose hands were halfway down her pants. Quite the opposite it was making her wetter than she’d ever thought possible, and that’s also a little disturbing.

When Valerie turns to cup Olivia’s face to bring it up to catch her lips she can taste Peter’s tongue second-hand and she’s tilted off her track; reaching blindly for the dress and feeling like she was nineteen all over again for the first time.

A piece of Peter wants to feel jealousy at the woman who’s sucking a noticeable bruise onto Olivia’s neck, but he can’t tear his eyes away. He wished he’d have remembered to pack popcorn. Olivia’s head falls against his chest and between flashing light Peter drops his head to the crook of her neck to trace the shape of her shoulder with his mouth. He buries his fingers deep into Valerie’s hair as she moves; Olivia’s arousal is so strong he feels it in the soles of his feet. 

There’s a tug on his belt buckle and he feels it loosened and hands sliding their way into the front of his jeans. Simple deduction tells him its Olivia’s hands as Valerie’s are lost down the front of Olivia’s and he’s almost blinded with pleasure when she slides inside his boxers to curl her hands around him. 

Valerie’s lips are black ice on his as she wraps her fingers into his hair and Peter feels the strands stand up and the cold rush shine down on him. His hands fall to the front of Olivia’s jeans, finding them unbuttoned as he slides a hand under the fabric to the dizzying heat.Olivia twists her neck and her tongue slides in and Peter doesn’t know who he’s kissing and he doesn’t care.

Between Peter’s hands down her pants, Valerie’s increasing weight against her front and the wet triangle of mouths, Olivia’s feeling heat building her from the toes up. She’s gripping Peter and knows he’s close to the way he’s rocking into her hand that when she feels hot fingers she’s close to snapping like a rubber band right along with him. 

There’s the feeling of trailing teeth on his neck and he holds the mouth there, letting the burst of pleasure rocket his skin as those teeth find purchase on his skin. The pain rises and crests, then becomes blinding. 

He grabs Olivia’s hair to pull her toward him to kiss her violently as the pain intensifies; his whole neck stiffening. There’s a new pain in his shoulder where Valerie’s mouth is, and the pain is hot fire over the pleasure and he pulls away, seeing blood down the front of his shirt through the strobe and he’s suddenly panicking. 

There’s a quick swoosh and the pain recedes, Valerie buckling against them and he stumbles to keep her from toppling sideways, the dart bright red against the black of her dress. 

As soon as Valerie’s out that the fog lifts with the power of a two by four and he feels a wave of nausea wash over him. Olivia’s face is wide with shock as he wrenches his hands away like she’s made of kryptonite, practically shoves Olivia away with a start.Valerie flops between them lifelessly and they both stare. Olivia feels the prickling needles of the edging migraine pushing through her temples and keeping tempo with the now blaring music. She also notices her hands were down Peter’s pants just seconds ago. 

“Jesus,” he shouts, hands shaking when he finally lifts them to his face. He touches the pain at his neck and finds his fingers wet. Olivia’s wide-eyed and pale, smoothing down her shirt when she notices the blood too. 

“She bit you.” Olivia says, her voice shaking. She’s one step away from serious fucking freak out, pressing a hand against the wound in Peter’s neck as she tries to rein herself from the edge. The euphoric pleasure is stripped and the nightclub is returned to being dark and disgusting. Peter’s neck throbs with pain as he shakes his head clear of the cobwebs.

They turn at the same time to find Charlie, arms dropped in front of him, still clutching the dart gun and wearing an expression mixed between shock and murderous. 

“Do I even want to know?” Charlie pointedly asks Olivia, ignoring Peter to finally step between them to inspect Valerie’s unconscious body, his eyes never leaving Peter’s heated face. 

“Probably not.” Olivia answers. 

There’s about a split second when realization becomes absolution and in horror Peter spins, making it a few feet before he heaves; retching loudly in the corner and for the first time of the night they’re noticed.


End file.
